


we deserve happiness, you and i

by gremlit



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:35:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29919738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gremlit/pseuds/gremlit
Summary: Cole: Why did you leave your home, Dorian?Dorian: You know why. I had to stop the Venatori.Cole: It was more...it was the man with your eyes...angry, walking on cobblestones, 'I'm on my own now'Dorian: Digging around in my head again, are you?Cole: You said I could ask questions!Dorian: (Sigh.) Rather like inviting someone into your house and they walk off with the silverware!Dorian wishes Cole would stay out of his head.
Relationships: Cole/Dorian Pavus
Kudos: 3





	we deserve happiness, you and i

He kind of hates Cole. 

Well, _hate_ might be a bit dramatic. As he is known to be at times. But he can’t help it. The boy won’t shut up. About _his_ personal business. In front of _everyone_. No one needs to know about the detailed history between him and his father. Or the nameless men he’s flirted with in foreign cities. Obviously Cole is not _normal_ , but in some circles, neither is Dorian. There are taverns he’s been to, that even with the Inquisitor in tow, he won’t be served for being a “Vint,” and he can’t help but wish some of the Inquisition scouts were a little more subtle with their glances. No one in the inner circle could be considered normal, it occurs to him. But Cole is the weirdest. 

To be fair, he doesn’t hate everything about Cole. It was rather amusing to watch him take his first sip of ale in the tavern with Varric and Iron Bull and see how his face scrunched up in disgust and ask, “Why do people _like_ this?”

“It’s not for the taste,” Dorian smiled, taking a swig from his own tankard. 

“I disagree, Sparkles; I’m fond of some really disgusting swill at the end of a long day fighting demons.” Is what Varric remarked, the sort of thing where Dorian is never really sure if he’s joking or not. 

“I don’t like it,” Cole whined, and Iron Bull had taken that as permission to down the rest of Cole’s drink.

At times when Dorian’s feeling particularly homesick, he’ll find a traditional Tevinter pastry sitting on the table by the seat he frequents in the library. He imagines that’s Cole’s doing, though how he convinces the kitchen staff to bake them, he can’t figure out. But there’s a lot about Cole he can’t figure out. Whenever there’s a book he’s particularly keen on reading, Cole has a knack for finding their whereabouts in Skyhold’s extensive libraries. 

But he hates the things he pulls out of his head like pulling flies out of a spiderweb. He is trying to help, but it _hurts_ , the delicate silk that held those locked memories in place torn to bits. 

They’re in the midst of trekking through the snow in the Emprise du Lion and their party of four have been silent for the last hour. The Inquisitor is determined to close the rifts spotted around the area, and while Dorian applauds the valiance, he's cold and tired and wants to return to his fireplace at Skyhold.

In the light snow that falls, Dorian feels his mind drifting. In his youth as a precocious teenager, he had visited Orlais along with Alexius, though the skies had been brighter at the time. Once Alexius had been distracted with matters of court politics and strengthening alliances, Dorian had slipped away to get drunk and flirt with Orlesian boys. A witty noble born named Marcel had offered to give him a tour of Orlais’ better kept secrets, evading chevaliers and gambling with scoundrels. Their last night together was one Dorian had thought over long since his return to the Imperium. Alexius had caught him daydreaming once or twice, a knowing smile that made Dorian hide in his face in embarrassment, though he couldn’t help the bloom of warmth that spread in his chest. One born of happiness. Contentedness. 

“The heat of that summer keeps me warm years later; the feeling of Marcel’s lips flush on my neck lasts for weeks. Yet the thrill of first love is eclipsed by Alexius - the knowledge he accepts me, that he loves me. Like a _father_ should.”

“Alright, demon, enough of your nonsense,” Sera grumbles, but the Inquisitor glances at him. Only for a moment, but it’s enough that Dorian flushes hard, his heart straining in his chest. 

“ _Cole_ ,” Dorian says, in a reprimanding tone, hoping it’s enough to get him to shut up. 

“You wish your father were more like Alexius,” Cole remarks, and for a spirit able to detect the feelings of those around him, he seems oblivious to Dorian’s discomfort.

“Yes, Cole, and I wish you were more _silent_ ,” He gripes, unable to come up anything wittier. But it does seem to work. Cole says nothing more, and the Inquisitor finally announces that they’ll be returning to Skyhold.

  
  


When they finally return to Skyhold, Cole is gone before Dorian even has time to begin undoing the buckles on his robes. He doesn’t see him again until he stops by the tavern to play a couple rounds of Wicked Grace. Sera has made a wager against him and she’s terrible at bluffing. Varric is walking through the door just as he’s won his third match and Dorian calls him over to join the next round. He's laughing behind his drink while he waits for Sera to finish swearing her arse off. And suddenly, there’s a gentle breath on his ear. 

“Smiling from the heart, laughing from the belly. I can be _real_ with them. I can have _friends._ ”

Dorian nearly jumps out of his seat, exclaiming, “ _Fasta vass!_ Cole!” Turning, there is the culprit, holding his feelings hostage.

“It’s true. You don’t have to wear a mask anymore. You can be yourself with us,” Cole says, his fingers fidgeting with each other. He says it so earnestly, a delicate smile on his face, that Dorian could almost appreciate the sentiment. But he’s too angry to process the words, and all he wants is for Cole to leave him alone, for pity’s sake. 

“Andraste’s tits, not the demon boy again. I wish he’d stop haunting the tavern,” Sera groans, and Dorian wishes he would stop haunting _him._

“The kid means well, Dorian. Go easy on him,” Varric says, but his eyes are soft with pity, so unusual on the dwarf’s face, that it does nothing to calm him.

He ignores him.

“Cole. _Please_ don’t do that,” Dorian says, gritting his teeth, “I’ll collect my winnings tomorrow morning, Sera,” He mutters to her, before storming out the tavern, his mood spoiled. 

A few days later he’s searching the dust-covered library in the underground of the castle for a book about Tevinter history, one he swears he just saw the night before, when Cole walks - _walks_ \- down the stairs towards him. Under the wide brim of that ugly hat, his lip is caught between his teeth. Dorian thinks he almost looks nervous. Does Cole get nervous? Dorian’s never considered it before. 

“Cole,” He says by way of greeting, but nothing more. 

“Varric says it’s not polite to ‘air out people’s dirty laundry,’” Cole says. He lifts his head and his eyes are red and glassy, but they’re always like that. His lips are chapped and sunburned. 

“Dorian, I’m sorry,” Cole says. He pulls a book out from behind his back and presents it to him. It’s the one Dorian’s been looking for all evening.

“Oh. Thank you, Cole,” He says, reaching for the book, but Cole’s doesn’t release his grip.

“Trying to hide all the grief that sits in the heart; there’s no need to fix a tear that no one sees. _Get out of my head._ ” It comes out in a rush, but the last words are practically growled. 

The book slips and hits the floor. Cole’s eyes are wide, his mouth slightly agape, “You - you hate me.” 

Before Dorian can open his mouth to respond, Cole is gone and he is alone again. There is a book on the floor. It’s the one he’s been searching for all evening. 

The Inquisitor takes him, Varric and Cole out to the Hinterlands on word from Leliana about a couple of scouts that consistently go missing south of Hafter’s Woods. 

Varric and Dorian have been strolling at a leisurely pace behind the Inquisitor. Cole has gone scouting ahead of them, so the two of them are chatting about scandals at Skyhold. Building an army full of amateur soldiers and scouts from every walk of life is bound to start affairs all over the place. Dorian knows from a recent expedition into the Hissing Wastes that steadfast old Charter has a highborn lover, which has Varric whistling low in admiration. 

“Didn’t think she had it in her. She’s always struck me as someone married to the cause,” Varric remarks, “I know for a fact that Tiny’s sleeping with one of the scullery maids.”

“He’s sleeping with both of them. Sometimes at the same time!” 

“You know, the kid would kill me if he knew I told you this, but Cole’s got himself a bit of a crush on you, Sparkles.” 

Dorian sputters, “He what?” It takes him a moment to realize what he means, and he shakes his head, “No, he’s just drawn to my - he mistakes his desire to help me for attraction.”

Varric smiles sadly, “You think you’re the only one with pain, Dorian? Sera hates her own kind, Cullen’s addicted to lyrium, and the Inquisitor? Our Herald’s got the whole world resting on those shoulders. Failure means doom for all us mere mortals. We’ve all got our own trauma to deal with.”

And then Dorian feels ashamed, so caught up in his own grief about his father that he failed to notice everyone else surrounded by their suffering and still pushing through it like the knee-high snow that they found the Inquisitor wading through after the fall of Haven. He’s seen Leliana’s thin bedroll on the top floor of the rotunda; the squawking of the birds an endless reminder of the work she must do. He even offered Josephine a homemade salve to ease the ache in her back made from hours of sitting in that chair all day writing letters. If Cassandra ever sleeps it is only in short increments before she’s checking in with recruits or hacking away at those training dummies to refine her attacks. 

He’s quiet for a moment as they amble through the bracken of the Hinterlands.

“Don’t be like that, Sparkles. Thought you’d get a kick out of it,” Varric says, reaching up to elbow him in the side. His voice is maintaining that cheery tone, and Dorian sighs.

“Right, so what makes you think the boy’s so enamoured with me? Not that I can fault him; I am exceptionally handsome, but with those clothes, and that _hat_ , I find his taste lacking.” 

“You ever wondered why so many books of yours go missing?” 

“Well, I - It’s a big castle. That’s _Cole_?” A faint memory, like the sun’s light dulled by the weight of curtains, tugs at the back of his mind. 

“Think he likes being thanked when he returns ‘em to you.” 

“I’d prefer he didn’t _steal_.” 

Varric sighs, “He does a lot for the inquisition. Little things, you know? Putting honey in Leliana’s wine, restoring Josephine’s candles before they run out, calming the refugees in Skyhold, soothing the souls of the weary. And no one knows it’s him. Let him have this one thing. Won’t you?” 

Dorian nods, watching Cole speak with the Inquisitor right before he and Varric are called over. But Cole hasn’t even spoken to him for weeks, Dorian thinks, not since - well, he can’t even remember when. 

Later, after they have captured a keep held by an organisation of bandits, everyone is resting in the camp they’ve set up there. Inquisition agents are bringing in supplies to provide for refugees in the area. The Inquisitor is giving orders to a team of scouts to mark anything worth investigating further on the map. Varric has already crawled into a tent, his snoring penetrating the cloth. 

Cole is gone again, but Dorian is compelled to seek him out. He can’t have gone far from the fortress, so after a brief exploration of the structure (unremarkable and in the cellar he finds a pile of clothes that have most likely been pilfered from victims) he leaves, promising the Inquisitor he’ll return before dusk. The sun is still high in the sky, leaving sweat gathering on Dorian’s skin. Cole is sitting under the shade of a tree. A nug is playing in his lap. 

“Cole,” Dorian says, and the creature skitters away from him. He sits a few feet away from him, resting his elbow across his knee. 

“What are you doing here, Dorian?” Cole asks, but he says it indignantly, like it is not really a question. 

“Things have been...a bit fraught between us, yes? I thought we should talk it out. What do you say?” 

Cole isn’t looking at him, and his face is half-obscured by his ridiculous hat; just the frown on his lips visible. _Is he...sulking?_ Dorian wonders.

“I thought you didn’t want me around. I thought - I thought you hated me,” Cole says, and it turns a key in Dorian’s mind: the incident in the cellar back at Skyhold. Dorian sighs. 

“No, Cole. I don’t hate you. I hate… I hate that you have free reign of every thought and feeling in my mind, I hate that you share my pain with the others. I don’t want everyone to see me as nothing more than a sad little boy haunted by the shadow of his father.”

Cole finally looks at him, “You’re not a boy. You’re a man.”

“Yes,” Dorian agrees, trying to interpret the look in Cole’s eyes, his eyebrows knitted together under his messy fringe, “But when you pull the memories from my head, I feel like a boy again. Like a child. One incapable of fighting the battle against Corypheus. I can’t - I must be at my best.”

Cole pulls at the grass beside him, “I can help. I want - I could stop the hurting.” 

“It’s not so simple. To be human - sometimes you can’t help but hold onto pain, because it is all you have left of those you love.” 

Cole frowns, like he disagrees, but he says nothing. 

“So, we agree, no more talking of the strained relationship between me and my father?” Dorian pauses, “At least not in front of the others.” 

“You hurt. And your hurting is like someone knocking on a door. But… I will try not to let it in.” 

“Good. Thank you, Cole. Let’s return, shall we? Our Herald must be wondering where we are.” 

And he thinks that will be the last of it, and it is. For a while.

For one thing, Cole goes on some mysterious mission with Solas and Varric and now he is more human. It’s easier to catch him sneaking about, trying to do his little errands, since people remember him now. Dorian’s books stop going missing, because Cole can’t get away with pulling them off the shelf without him noticing. 

Sometimes, when Cole starts blurting out emotions from Dorian’s head, he’ll clamp his mouth shut mid-sentence. Each time, Dorian feels himself breathe out in relief. It’s easier to be around Cole when his chest isn’t restricted with tension, waiting for the next thing to come out of his mouth to be another one of his secrets. 

He’s not sure, but Cole seems desperate to make amends with him, because his acts of charity increase. After uninterrupted study of Tevinter histories, trying to learn more about Corypheus, as the words are starting to blur together he’ll find a cup of mulled wine waiting for him, and in the mornings he’ll wake with a blanket around his shoulders. Whenever he joins the others for a drink at the tavern, his tankard is never empty, and his hands in Wicked Grace are always so good he starts losing on purpose. Winning is only fun for so long before it gets boring. When they are out in the field, and the day is turning into night and they are _still_ walking, too dangerous yet to make camp, Cole will wordlessly take his pack from his shoulders and tug it on his own. And he lets him, because the smile he gives him, shy and twitchy, is nonetheless short of blinding.

Dorian is not a stranger to being spoiled; many a lover had found pleasure in showering him in gifts, and he is marvellous at showing his gratitude. But this is different. These acts of compassion ask for nothing in return except his friendship. And he can’t help it, he grows fond of the weirdo. Now that he is no longer filled with a bellyful of anger, it’s not so difficult to find Cole’s endearing qualities.

For instance, he likes the way he personifies objects, like when Dorian asks him about the cards and he just says, “I asked them if they’d play in your favour, and they said yes.” 

Mid chess game, as Cullen is stroking his chin and considering his next move, Dorian glances over at the garden, and laughs. Cole has his shirt lifted in a makeshift pocket as he harvests herbs. Soil is streaked across his cheek. Noticing Dorian, he lifts his hand in a wave, and Dorian nods in return. By the time Cullen turns to look over his shoulder, Cole is already gone. The corner where herbs are grown is all askew and covered in dirt, and Mother Giselle will not be happy. That’s enough to keep a grin on his face all day long. 

They are in Orlais some while later, once their companionship has turned from an uneasy acquaintanceship to a comfortable friendship. Dorian has settled into the inquisition properly, and has a seat in the inner circle. It feels good to belong. He, Varric, Iron Bull and Sera will meet regularly for Wicked Grace, or sometimes just a drink after a particularly hard day of fighting demons, Venatori, dark spawn, or the other thousands of enemies they have. Cullen will seek him out for a chess match at least once a week. The advisors are experts in their areas, and yet Dorian finds himself offering his own guidance to the Inquisitor often. Sure, Solas is a bit tetchy, but you can’t get on with everyone. Dorian finds his laughter comes easy, unguarded. Despite the big blasting hole in the sky, he’s happy. 

The Inquisitor has taken Solas, Blackwall and Sera to the Western Approach, so Dorian has gone with a few others to the Orlesian Markets for some new supplies. He is particularly in search of some new fabrics. His own robes are getting alarmingly worn. 

“Dorian.”

By now, he is no longer surprised by Cole’s imperceptible presence, “Yes, Cole?”

“Dorian, I want to buy you a gift, but I’m scared I’ll pick something wrong,” Cole says in a rush, his voice almost edging into a whine.

Dorian turns to look at Cole fidgeting and biting his lip, “You don’t have to buy me anything,” He says, exasperated but smiling.

“But you like pretty things.” 

“Yes. But - Cole, are you worried I won’t like you if you don’t do favours for me?” 

Cole is slow to answer, his hat obscuring his face. Dorian thinks it rather a cheat to hide the only thing that would allow him a glance at his emotions, when his are available to Cole at all times. 

“You didn’t like me before. What if you don’t like me again?” 

Dorian puts a hand on his shoulder, “It’s alright. I _was_ angry before, but you were just trying to help. I know that now. We’re friends now. I’m not so quick to turn on my friends.” He says.

Cole’s voice drops into that tone, the one he uses when he’s gone into someone else’s head, and he says, “Skin blessed by the sun’s heat, veins bursting with magic. His eyes shine as they reflect the light, as if it was made only for him.” 

Dorian crosses his arms, amused, “Flattery will get you everywhere. Whose head did you pluck that pretty little thought out of?”

“Mine,” Cole breathes, lifting his head to finally look him in the eye, “Dorian. You’re beautiful.” 

Dorian drops his arms to his sides, and the assured expression on his face softens. Cole disarms his witty demeanour, the one he uses to charm.

“Oh, Cole,” He says, reaching out to him, and Cole leans his cheek into his palm. His hands come up to hold his wrist there, “Come here.” Dorian says softly, and presses their lips together. It is all too brief, but it is soft and painless. Cole is a strange little thing, pale, as if he’s never seen the sun, and that underbite doesn’t do him any favours. He’s not pretty like the handsome dandies of Orlais and the lithe, effeminate boys of Fereldan, but he is tender despite the hardness of battle. His eyes are wide and earnest, and Dorian can see the way he looks at him as if he is something beloved. Perhaps this is the way they might be happy. His pain aches a little less, distracted as he is, with the kindness Cole grants him. 

“We really must get you a new hat,” Dorian murmurs, pushing the fringe out of Cole’s eyes. He makes a noise of disagreement in his throat, but his fingers are soft on his back. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> why is this such a niche ship? dorian doesn't know how to love himself. cole wants him to be happy. they could be happy together. also.....the idea of cole stealing his books comes from this tumblr post: https://littlegumshoe.tumblr.com/post/615389408754040832/cole-gets-a-lilcrushon-dorianand


End file.
